Tiger Tiger
by Besina
Summary: Sherlock tells us a little more about John's military history, as John sleeps through it.


John, my John. I don't deserve someone as good as he is, yet it seems fortune is on my side this time. I curl around him, stroking my fingers lightly over his chest while he breathes, dreams. I've seldom felt much of anything for anyone. There's family loyalty, of course, despite the fact that Mycroft and I argue incessantly; but this feeling for John is intense, so intense it scares me.

In a life where I've always put myself first, assured that I wouldn't ever get dragged into anything emotionally, I've let him slip into my heart, and now, I don't come first; John does. I wouldn't expect anyone who is not a sociopath to understand how utterly terrifying this is. I would do anything to keep him safe and near me. That is sentiment - and my brother is right about that - it is not an advantage. It is a serious disadvantage for me, one that any of my enemies could spot easily, but still not one I am willing to give up.

I won't say John is naive, certainly there are things I don't tell him, and ways I must play him in order to keep things running smoothly or keep him out of danger. But he is a good man. And despite knowing who I am, and what I am, and how often I drive him absolutely crazy; he still accepts me wholeheartedly, even warmly. John knows me better than perhaps anyone else in my life, even Mycroft, even Mummy, yet he hasn't run away screaming, and he's had plenty of chances.

Maybe I don't have traditional love to give, but I do have loyalty, and protectiveness, friendship, and physical desire. I can show him these, I do show him these. Perhaps it's close enough.

John is sweet, thinks the best of people, has empathy and sympathy for them, he's a caretaker by nature and by training. He coddles me when I'm falling apart, yet he also pulls me up short when I go too far. And though he's sweet, loving and caring, he's also a crack-shot with strict military training, who is not afraid to kill someone if the situation demands it. There's no last-minute crisis of conscience. He doesn't enjoy it, but he doesn't waver. He knows and he acts.

Oddly, I don't think that that is something the military drilled into him. I think it's always been there. He has the courage of his convictions, and a very clear view of what those are.

That's the side people forget about, until circumstance forcefully reminds them of it. They only see the soft, cuddly side of John, the John that sighs, rolls his eyes, and deals with Sherlock. Perhaps they'd be more at ease if they knew what a stern force they have on their side, in him. Molly would certainly feel less jumpy. She trusts my brain, but if she knew what lengths John would go to protect her? She'd never feel afraid of anything again.

The two disparate parts of him coming together, into play - I think that is part of the attraction. He's fierce, but willing to be docile, until things demand he be otherwise. John can be vicious. He _can_ be a cold-blooded killer. (_Why do I find that sexy?_) He just chooses not to be. Though on occasion, I've seen him fight _very hard_ to keep it down. Especially when I say something exceedingly obnoxious to him, or have burned up half the flat. Possibly both. I wonder sometimes what it would be like if he tried, and failed, to temper that side of himself.

He'd be dangerous, exciting perhaps, but not John. And my real John would feel horrible afterward. Sometimes I wonder why I push his buttons so much, but I can't seem to help it. I really can't. One day he may snap and throttle me; I doubt anyone would blame him.

I've seen his service records. He doesn't know that of course. Courtesy of Mycroft, though I'm not sure what exactly he was trying to get across by sharing them. John's told me most of the things that happened over there. He's even elaborated on some of his worst nightmares. But the records indicate something else that he hasn't shared, probably never will. Maybe he's pushing it down; doesn't want to believe it a part of him. Shall I tell you?

You know of John's military-issue gun of course (which he, thankfully, neglected to turn in). One day, early morning, still dark, John was roused by gunfire, very close by and the yells of his fellow men; without thinking he grabbed his medkit and was up and over, running toward the action in a heartbeat. In the rush of adrenaline and the shouts for help, he'd forgotten both his weapon and his helmet. Most of the action was taking place to the far left of where he was needed; there was one man down, alone, and it didn't seem to be an issue at the time. He was most focused on keeping the boy from bleeding out from several bullet wounds. As he was turning around to fetch more supplies from his kit, he saw an armed Afghani approaching, not more than a few feet away. With no weapon in sight - the soldier's having landed out of reach when he was first shot - they were certain to be executed. John grabbed the first thing there was to hand - a foldable shovel - and _beat their foe to death_ with it. Hold onto that thought for a moment. John, the one you thought you knew - beat a man to death _with a shovel_. A gun-weilding man, no less. I suppose his aggressor was caught off guard by the sheer unexpectedness of it. And as soon as John had dispatched the man, he returned to his patient, who miraculously, through John's efforts, survived.

John is capable of quite a lot when he deems it necessary, but I think perhaps he is a little ashamed to admit it. Perhaps he thinks in that instance he was a little more animalistic than is considered healthy. But I ask you, what were his options? He was shot not long after and invalided home, and it is that encounter which is the main reason they had him start therapy - the limp, the PTSD, and the tremor, secondary. The therapy notes indicated that though he doesn't like to talk about it, he is stymied why they would think him traumatized by it. It was necessary, he did what he had to do. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't feel guilty about it, and had wondered aloud during one session why they were apparently trying to _make_ him feel guilty about it, then said that under the same circumstances, he'd do it again. I think that is the point that they stopped pursuing that avenue and started in on the secondary reasons for his visits.

John is a tiger who chooses to be tame. During the first 24 hours of us having known each other, he shot a man for me. It's been longer than that now, there are more emotions involved, but I have no doubt that if it ever became necessary, John would beat someone to death to save me: with a shovel, hammer, piece of lumber, half-brick, abacus, or a scone if required. And I'm sorry, but for whatever reason, I find that damn sexy.

John is still sleeping. There are no worry lines on his face. He looks angelic. My fingers wander downward. I think I'll wake him up slowly. Now, if you'll excuse me, my mouth is needed elsewhere.


End file.
